


in which duck plans a trip to Brazil (gone wrong- not clickbait)

by ClockWorkQueso



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, TAZ Amnesty, do I know anything about fighting forest fires in Brazil? nope, enjoy a blast from the past, fact checked? nope, its fine, lots of duck introspection, so I’m posting it, this is so old but I was going thru my drafts and I fucking love it actually?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28182897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockWorkQueso/pseuds/ClockWorkQueso
Summary: After the apocalypse, Duck isn’t sure what to do with himself. When he feels inspired to move down south to the Amazon Rainforest, chasing a destiny of his own making, it throws his relationship with Minerva in an unexpected loop. Their time as a monster-fighting duo has come to an end, so now, they’re free to make their own choices, and they’re finally free of each other.Duck might not be okay with that.Fuck.
Relationships: Minerva & Duck Newton, Minerva/Duck Newton
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	in which duck plans a trip to Brazil (gone wrong- not clickbait)

**Author's Note:**

> god this is old but I was going through my docs and actually I really like it, I don’t know why I didn’t post it? anyways. 
> 
> maybe now that the semester is over I’ll start writing more? we’ll see.

Duck doesn’t know what to do.

Not that he’s ever known a goddamn thing about what to do and when to do it his entire life. It’s a vastly different not-knowing, though, without the feeling of a set path underfoot, like a well-worn trail through the thickest of forests. Whatever choices he wound up making, the curves followed him, not the other way around, and he always ended up right where he needed to be, every time, until…

Well, he won’t say he misses it, exactly, the destiny business and the asshole sword, the alien planets and interstellar wars, but he does miss the sense of purpose. He has to fill up the newly vacant spot in his life, with something or other, he guesses. His schedule is wide open, and he’s a little embarrassed that Aubrey and Thacker get right to work fixing up Sylvain, according to Mama, “doin’ a damn good job of it too”. In his opinion, he made off with the short stick— those two are off just now coming into what they’re meant to be, and he’s already ticked that off the ol’ bucket list. It’s a blessing and a curse. 

For years, he’s rebelled against his calling, longing to rest, but now there’s no resistance. The future is yielding to him, now, warm clay ready to be molded, but Duck hasn’t the first clue what to make of it. Even his forestry job, so near and dear to his heart, seems not to need him, like he no longer fits the mold he’d carved away for himself in his quest for normalcy. The park’s quiet— local campers are a lot more reticent to goof off in the woods with the knowledge that Bigfoot himself is right up the road, and that kind of caution gets passed to any who pass through. It’s as green and verdant as ever out there, like the Earth is breathing a tremendous sigh of relief at not being totally annihilated, and Duck is as always captivated and wondrous of the nature he protects, but it feels like he’s missing something vital. He’s frozen, at a crossroads, for the first time in his life, he gets to choose what happens next. And in the meantime, he keeps going through the motions.  
  


Until one night, when he’s channel surfing, sprawled on the couch with the cat on his lap, when he sees that the Amazon is burning. Something buzzes in his rib cage, adrenaline spiking in his gut, a familiar feeling with a slightly different flavor, and oh, _yes_ , he can work with this. He calls up Juno first, figures she’d want to know where he’s hightailing it to, maybe even tell him he’s batshit crazy, but to his immense surprise she offers to join him. 

He heard about what she did that night, when the Quell came for Kepler, and he wonders if she’s been missing that feeling too, the feeling of being a hero. He agrees to drag her all the way to fucking Brazil on a whim.

No, Duck doesn’t miss the battles, the training, the immense responsibility of being Chosen, but he figures, hell, there’s plenty more than one way to be a hero. It’s a fight of a different kind, but a fight nonetheless- and that’s how he pitches it to Minerva.

The giantess of a woman is standing in his kitchen, carefully working the coffee maker like he taught her. She’s picked up lots of things in bouncing around between her chosen ones, but by and large she spends most of her time with him. He wrestles with how to tell her he’s leaving as she pours two cups, black for both of them (only because he’s out of sugar and creamer). He doesn’t know how she’ll take the news, that’s he’s leaving. He also doesn’t know why it matters so much, why he’s worried about what she’ll get up to without him, and how he’ll function without her constant, reassuring presence, even if he couldn’t stand it for a good few years.

And, yeah, shit, he’s spent the last 20 years of his life running from her, hasn’t he, so why now is he overcome with this… anxiety? It’s not like he’ll never see her again— an echo of the loss he felt when their connection got severed stabs into him, cold and miserable. He can tell himself it’s because he became weaker, got un-chosen, all he likes, but damn, he’d missed Minerva. Despite her hounding him nonstop, his respect for her had only grown, exponentially so since he’d joined the Pine Guard, and started coming into his destiny. She’d trusted him with this responsibility, and in return, he’d trusted her to teach him how to use it. He wouldn’t be the man he is today without her— and hell, he probably wouldn’t even be here at all.

Ah, shit. He notices that she’s talking to him when he feels the warmth of the mug being pressed into his hands, and he catches, “…alright, Wayne Newton?”

It’s still so weird to hear his name played out like that, in her particular cadence, and without a trace of mockery. Perks of having alien friends, he guesses. He much prefers Duck, but he thinks Minerva takes pride in the fact she’s the only one who gets this privilege, so he lets it slide. Hell, she’s more than earned it, putting up with his bullshit over the years. She’s earned honesty, not that he could lie to her if he tried. He blows out a sigh, and decides with all of his chosen-one courage to just bite the bullet and get it over with.

“Minerva, I’ve been thinkin’,” he starts, voice low and gravelly. It’s too loud in his ears, and his gut twists, “me n’ Juno are gonna head out to do some good down in the Amazon rainforests. Fightin’ fires and doin’ restoration work, and, man, they could really use the help, seems like. Brazil. It’s, uh, south of here. Way south.”

Minerva tilts her painted head. She looks almost… pleased, like she’d known he’d been looking for something to do, something more. She knows him too well. She claps a heavy hand on his shoulder and squeezes, just shy of painful. Yeah, yeah, she’s proud, but it feels hollow, especially when she says, “I see. A worthy endeavor! And how long will this new mission last, Wayne Newton? A few weeks? Months?”

“Well, see, that’s the thing,” Duck says, haltingly, “we don’t know. There’s, lots to do, and I don’t— I probably wouldn’t come back. To Kepler. Well, to visit, sure, but I’d imagine that, uh, once I get all set up over there, I won’t be, you know, _back_ back.”

Minerva’s hand slips from his shoulder, joining her other clasped around her mug. She eyes her coffee, lips pursed, thinking, mulling it over- she’s so easy to read, now that he can actually see her face, her strong, expressive features. She doesn’t… deflate, exactly, but her natural exuberance seems to dim somewhat. At least she doesn’t look _upset_ , not that he expected her to pitch a fit, but maybe it stings a little that she isn’t protesting him moving miles and miles away. Why would she? Whatever his sudden hangups are, she’s still got Leo and Dr. Drake, plus all the Amnesty folks. He’s given her what she’s asked of him, done his part, and now, she’s well within her right to move on. They both are. Right?

“Alright, Duck Newton,” she shrugs, likely coming to the same conclusion, and takes a huge swig of her still-boiling coffee. Duck sips at his own, and wonders if that’s it, then. They spend the day watching old sitcoms together, a cushion apart on the couch, and Duck wonders.  
  


It’s about two weeks after that, and Duck still hasn’t left yet. He’s really underestimated the work it takes to uproot oneself from 40 years of staying in one place, stagnant.

He and Juno are in the process of seeing about a transfer over to a similar station a ways out from the forest itself, a place to set up camp as it were, a sort of jumping off point for their new lives. He’s also been brushing up on his Spanish in Duolingo, but it’s so hard to keep up with that shit, he mostly plans on coasting with his high-school level knowledge of the language. He’s sure it’ll be fine. He’s been busy, thinking about what to pack, and what to leave to his friends in Kepler, plans in place for if— when, _when_ , they get the gate fixed, making sure all the paperwork is in order for transferring his lease, what he’s gonna do with his cat—

And, right. That’s why he’s out with Minerva at the moment, doing some pithy grocery shopping. Duck’s always been pretty bad at it— it’s not like he’s had to really try to keep in shape, he could usually just eat whatever was on sale from week to week, takeout if he felt particularly lazy. No, mostly, he’s walking Minerva through the task, subtly preparing her for the responsibility of moving in to his apartment, and keeping up with his routines. That’s his grand plan— he ain’t gotta worry about her if he knows she’s all set up somewhere familiar, roof over her head, a solid schedule, cat to keep her company. She’ll be good without him here, which is his intention, and why that still bothers him, he doesn’t know. Not that he doesn’t trust the other Chosen Ones to look out for her; he just thought that, maybe, doing this for her, for his peace of mind, would make the thought of leaving her more bearable.

It doesn’t.

They’re hefting in the groceries, and he shows Minerva where everything goes, the cat brushing at their ankles because she knows that groceries mean it’s just about feeding time. He tries to make a joke about it to Minerva, but it’s like his voice gets stuck in his throat. He feels sick, almost worse than before he planned this little scheme, and it must show on his face, because Minerva blocks the doorway before he can dive back out to get the last of the goods. She takes up the entire frame, arms crossed, a stubborn wall of muscle, and he knows it’s pointless trying to wrestle by her.

“Duck Newton,” she booms, a warning in her tone. “You are positively green. Have you fallen ill? Do you require medical attention?”

“There’s frozen shit in the car, Minerva, come on,” Duck tries, weakly, but she arches one eyebrow and stands firm, only budging to lay the back of her deeply tanned hand against his forehead. If anything, he’s clammy, so her touch is warm, and something has him jolting back, deeper into the apartment.

She remains poised with her hand held up in the open air for a few seconds, before letting it fall as a fist at her side. She narrows her eyes, grounds out, “what was the purpose of this grocery expedition, Duck Newton? Are you keeping something from me?”

Duck feels his heart pounding in his ears, louder than her accusation. He’s a shit liar, he knows this, knows he can’t smooth this over with any hemming and hawing, so, “I want you to have my apartment,” he blurts, and while perfectly sufficient, great, yup, that’s it, he tacks on anyway, “I want to know you’ll be ok, while I’m gone.”

She tenses up, just a touch, but he notices. God, he’s so _stupid_. Minerva is brashly independent; a warrior like her would probably be offended by being coddled. He could’ve just left it at the first bit, been all practical about it, but then he had to go on and get mushy— but, then, she smiles, and shakes her head. Her eyes, though, are unreadable. “I am flattered, Duck Newton. I shall gladly accept this charge.”

He breathes a heavy sigh of relief, glad to have that over and done with, but the knot that’s formed in his stomach doesn’t dissipate. If anything, it coils tighter. He speaks through the lump in his throat, “well, alright then. I sure do appreciate it. You’ve always got my back, Minerva.”

It comes out far more tender than he anticipated, and he feels that there’s something else trying to push through, behind the words. His mind rails against the thought, panic blooming fresh in his chest, and he mentally stamps it down like an unregulated campfire as Minerva steps out into the hall, gesturing for him to follow suit.

It’s bittersweet, somehow, when Minerva sighs as he passes by her, breath fanning his spectacular hat- tousled hair, “of course. That is what friends are for.”

  
It’s four weeks after that that Duck and Juno feel just about ready to leave. Ready, in the sense of being physically prepared, packed, locked and loaded, itching to get out there and do some good. Mentally, though, Duck’s hit a roadblock. He can’t speak to what Juno’s mind is on, of course, so she might be 100% raring to go, but Duck keeps circling back around to just plain not wanting to leave Minerva here in Kepler.

For so long, they’ve been a kind of package deal. It’s not that he doesn’t want to go to Brazil, he totally does, it excites him, he just— it doesn’t feel right, without being with her. Yeah, yeah, there’s no more fighting to do, and thank God for that, but— but maybe… maybe, they’re allowed to exist outside of that, together. They’ve become more than just, mentor and mentee, at this point. Maybe, _maybe_ , they can just be.

Duck drags a hand down the side of his face, exasperated. What, is he gonna start doodlin’ little hearts with D+M in ‘em? Fuckin’ embarrassing. So, he’s got some schoolyard crush on Minerva now? He guesses? He ignores the part of his brain that tells him it’s more than that, that Minerva has always pushed him to want more and be more, and that this is no exception. No. He puts his foot down. Minerva is, arguably, his best friend, his trusted advisor. They’ve been through thick and thin— he’d do just about anything for her, he thinks, and in return she’s trusted him with more than he deserves. He’s sure that this is just some last ditch effort to hold onto her, selfishly. She’s allowed to live her own life, now that she’s got the opportunity. He doesn’t get to claim her, keep her close, when she’d been shackled to him out of mere necessity in the first place. 

See, the more he talks through it with himself, the more he can see that it’s better for them, to go their separate ways. His hero days are over, and it’s not fair to ask her to stay. He can see that, clearly, but then he circles right back to the ache in his heart, the big, beefy hole it would make if he tried to cut Minerva out of it. He lays awake with these thoughts, and aches.  
  


They’re over at Leo’s. They all brought something, ate dinner together, the Chosens and their guide, washed the dishes and put them away. A last hurrah, for Duck, and a celebration of the steady peace that they’ve finally settled into. The doctor is the first to go; she says something or other about being on the verge of a breakthrough, ambition burning in her eyes, and excuses herself, giving Duck an awkward hug and some final well-wishes. He thanks her, profusely, mostly for tonight, but also, a little bit for everything else too. She flushes, and then waves goodbye to Minerva as Duck returns to his seat. Leo walks Dr. Drake out, leaving Duck and Minerva sitting at the dining room table in poignant silence.

They haven’t really gotten to talking much since the whole apartment ordeal. He’s fully distracted himself with thoughts of his impending future, the complete reverse of his tactic for dealing with Chosen One bullshit, which is kind of funny. He doesn’t feel much like joking, though, looking over at Minerva. Her head is rested on her hand, and she’s staring off into the distance, face blank. She’s unusually reserved, and it’s disconcerting to see.

He sighs, quietly, resigned, and breaks the silence; he’s got one more goodbye to fight through. “Hey, you wanna root around and see if Leo’s got dessert hidin’ out somewhere in here?”

“Oh.” Minerva looks up, and offers him a half smile, sliding out of her seat. “A good idea as any, Duck Newton.”

He nods, and feels her follow behind him into the kitchen. It’s— it’s so _weird_ , that this bothers him, but she hadn’t called him Wayne since he said he was leaving. _Call me Wayne,_ he had said, and she did, so much so he knew she was saying it just to say it, because she could. It in no way measured up to what she’s given him, but that small secret part of himself belonged to very few people. It felt special, to him. Did he somehow take it back? Did he make her feel like he did?

“Duck Newton? You are not being very helpful,” Minerva grumbles, accompanied by the sound of shifting bags and boxes of food, shoulder deep in some cabinet.

“Shoot, sorry about that,” he laughs, short, amused. His heart does a little flip flop, and his smile withers, just a little. Right. He begins to rifle through the opposite side of the kitchen, procrastinating, until Minerva actually procures an unopened box of snack cakes from the recesses of the pantry.

“Ah-hah!” She holds the box out to him proudly, exuding pure satisfaction. Her happiness is infectious, and he feels himself being pulled into her intense orbit, being bodily lifted out of his funk. She grins, brightly, winsomely. “I have found! The Ding-Dongs!”

He snorts, unable to help himself, and again, between gasping breaths, until he’s overcome with a fit of giggles. He’s crying, too, and he can’t tell if it’s the joy or the despair that has, “God, I’m going to miss you so much,” tumbling out of his mouth, and— and, it doesn’t scare him half as much as he thought it might.

He’s almost doubled over at this point, so he can see her boot-clad feet scuffle closer, and he can hear the sound of the Ding-Dongs being set aside. He says it again, desperately, because he can, because it’s out there and it doesn’t matter if it hurts later, because at least she’ll know right now, “I’ll miss you so goddamn much.”

“Duck Newton,” she says, and the waver in her voice is so jarring that the laughter just about dies in his throat instantly. She clears her throat as he straightens up, wiping the tears from his cheeks, suddenly somber, and she continues, “Duck Newton, I will miss you more.”

They stare at each other, and he watches, wide-eyed, marking the tear rolling down her cheek. “Minerva,” he starts, but there’s just so much that he wants to say, nothing else quite makes it through. So he steps forward, and reaches, reaches up, and slowly, carefully brushes that tear away. He can see her swallow, and it feels like they’re both holding their breath.

Her skin isn’t soft, exactly, a bit tougher than his own, human skin, he thinks, but it’s warm under his palm, and as his thumb finishes it’s arc, he finds himself unwilling to pull away. _Come with me_ , he thinks, _stay with me._ Until he remembers, that isn’t fair to her, that he can’t decide for her, when she’s got her own life to live, and then he steps back, skin tingling with electricity, heart squeezing painfully tight.

She touches her cheek gingerly with her own hand as soon as he does, eyeing him almost in awe, in disbelief, and he wonders. He aches. But he doesn’t get to choose what happens next. _She_ does. So, he says, “listen, Minerva, whatever happens, wherever I am, we’re still gonna be friends, ok? I’m not— I can’t ask you to, to follow me to the ends of the earth, or you know, any other fuckin’ planet, for that matter. It’s ok. It’s— I mean, we’ll be good.”

Minerva blinks, opening her mouth, but Duck barrels on, “and it isn’t a big deal, really, right? I mean, all that destiny shit is behind us, there isn’t really any need for us, to, you know, keep close. Assuming that there isn’t another world-threatening encounter, loomin’ on the horizon, but, you know, my visions’ve stopped, I ain’t got my sword, I mean, what can I do here? You don’t need me here. And, you know, I guess without me to worry about, you’d be free to do whatever you want to?”

His heart his hammering, jack-rabbiting behind his ribs, but he’s so, so fucking relieved that he’s finally put what all he’s feeling into words. Well, most of it, anyhow, but he touched on what matters most. He’s navigating blind, and no one’s more surprised than he is at where’s he’s landed— except maybe Minerva. He waits with baited breath, feeling like he’s just run a marathon, watching as her brow furrows, digesting his long winded blathering.

“Duck,” she says, just Duck, and he feels winded a whole different way with how she says it, soft and sad and so very different from her usual boisterous tone that it physically hits him, a gut punch.

She speaks slowly, methodically, like she’s choosing her words very carefully, “I want nothing more in the world for you than your happiness, Duck. And whatever you choose to do in your life, I will be here for you, beside you. Have I not proven this to you many times over? Believe me when I say that I can see no reason to leave you now, and can foresee no reason to do so, ever.”

“Minerva,” Duck murmurs, daring to hope. He tries not to read into her wording too much, knowing her phrasing tends to come off as awkward more often than not, but. “Of course you have, but… you should be free to make your own choices, you know? I want you to— to find your purpose, you know, outside of, well, _me_.”

“Duck Newton, you _are_ my purpose.” He doesn’t know when the kitchen got to be so damn small, but right now, she’s towering over him, staring down at him with something bright and yearning in her eyes, something that he’s sure is reflected in his own. He’d let his insecurities blind him to what right in front of him again, something beautiful. Something real. Something that was laid out before him, a destiny, ready for him to reach out and take it, a path for him to follow, but not alone. Never alone.

She must see the shift in his eyes, can read his heart clear as day, because her smile returns full force, and her arms spring up, landing squarely on both of his shoulders. It takes all he has not to collapse. 

She laughs, bright and bubbly, reverberating in her chest and shaking him with its power. “The best decision I ever made was in choosing you, Duck, and therefore I will continue to do so. If you will have me, Duck Newton, I would like to walk alongside you in this journey as well.”

“Alright, now you’re just layin’ it on too thick, c’mon honey,” he teases, breathless, heart feeling bouyant and stuttery and yes, yes, full of immeasurable love and respect and joy for this huge alien woman.

“I can lay it on as thickly as I so choose, Wayne Newton, for I am the master of my own destiny, as you said,” she says, teasing back, and now he knows for sure she’s doing it to annoy him, and he laughs, and curls his arms up to rest his hands on top of Minerva’s, like a complete circuit, and his world rights itself.

“Oh shit.” Realization dawns on him, and he whirls to go retrieve his phone from the table— because he has to text Juno, oh god, they’ve gotta postpone, he’s gotta get Minerva a plane ticket, and can she even legally get a job— and runs smack dab into Leo,“oh shit!”

“Hey Duck,” he says, casually, glancing knowingly between the two of them. Duck wonders, mortified, how long he’d been standing there. “So. Need me to cat-sit?”

Minerva inserts herself between them, frantically shouting, “we are taking the cat!”

  
They do end up taking the cat to Brazil; getting her in the carrier is an endeavor in and of itself. But that aside, all other last-minute preparations go surprisingly smoothly. Minerva is ecstatic— turns out, she’d wanted to go with him all along, but she hadn’t wanted to annoy him by tagging along. She figured, with the sudden announcement, he’d made plans without her, which was fine, just caught her off guard. She likes to tell him that, over her course of thinking about it, she learned she simply considers him a constant, no matter what they’re doing, or where they are, at war, in peace, she wants to be where he is, and if he offered, her choice would be obvious, natural as breathing.

They were paired, she had said, by fate, but bound by respect, admiration, and love. It’s not textbook romance, Duck doesn’t think, but it’s one of the sweetest sentiments he’s ever heard, and it’s one of the things that keeps looping through his mind on the trip down, a positive feedback loop that has him slouching, dazed and smiley, in his tiny airplane seat, hat brim pulled down low. Old habits die hard- they’d surely get new uniforms at their new service center, but for now, the thing is a comfort. Juno’s dozing, leaning up on his shoulder, probably drooling. He looks a little to his right; Minerva’s got the window, gazing out at the clouds as they fly by. She’s practically glowing— and hell, she might actually be, there’s still so much to learn about her— but she turns when she feels his eyes on her. Backlit by the sun, she smiles, and Duck, in his life of uncertainty, of fighting his way through everything thrown his way, has never been more sure of anything. He settles back into his seat, and rests, hurtling into the unknown with an uncharacteristic confidence. For the first time, he’s running _to_ something, instead of away from everything. _Hell yeah_ , he thinks. Bring it on.


End file.
